One Candle

by Gale Sears

  “In my youth, I heard stories of Italy: the Renaissance, the art and the poetry, the charming landscapes. I was captivated by the passion of Christopher Columbus to find a new world, and by the bravery of Galileo to find new truths. It is hard to tell of all the greatness that breathes in the stories of Italy’s past.” He felt a stillness of spirit as he continued. “And now I am here, and I stand in awe of the grandeur of the towering Alpine peaks, the noble forests, and the verdant valleys laden with golden grain, orange trees, olives, and grapes. It is an enchanting realm.”

  Smiles softened the rough weathered faces as Lorenzo continued.

  “But under the flowered meadow and dust of the fields are laid low the poets who sang the praise of nations, the princes who wielded the scepter of power, and the warriors who reigned in tyranny.” The vivid words flowed from his mouth as though he were a native speaker, and Lorenzo knew they held meaning for the people. “Mighty works and deeds have disappeared into antiquity. I look around and wonder if there is something here except the tomb of the past? Has an eternal winter flooded the summer of your fame, frosted the flowers of your genius, or clouded the sunbeams of your glory?” His voice became thick with emotion. “Oh, Italy! I tell you that the future of your story will outshine your past and your children will yet be more renowned than the ages of old. The sure working of the gospel will weave for you a fairer wreath—a brighter crown.” Lorenzo felt the Spirit carrying the message to its listeners and their hearts accepting. He saw John Malan look with wonder at his wife, Pauline.

  “I see around me many an eye that, with delight, will see eternal truth, and many a face that will adorn the assemblies of the living God.” He looked at the Malan children. “There is the blood of heaven’s nobility in the hearts of many of your sons and daughters. I tell you these things as an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ.” Lorenzo stopped talking, for that was all the Spirit prompted. There was hardly a motion or sound as people sat mesmerized by the message and the messenger. Finally, Pauline Malan spoke.

  “Thank you for those well-spoken words, Elder Snow. They have touched our hearts.” She looked over at her children. “May I share with you a story about my father, John Combe?”

  “Of course.”

  “He died only three years ago, and on his deathbed, he spoke words of prophecy. He said that the old may not, but the young and rising generation would see the day when the gospel would be restored in its purity and powers.” She leaned forward and fixed Lorenzo with a steady gaze. “At the end of that, he said, ‘In that day, remember me.’ In that day, remember me,” she restated. “Can you attach a meaning to those words, Elder Snow?”

  Lorenzo felt a jolt as the Spirit moved from the top of his head to his feet. It was a moment before he could gather himself to speak. “Yes. I can tell you exactly what those words mean. We will find them together in the book of Malachi.” He wanted to go on and tell her about the temple in Nauvoo, of the eternal sealing ordinances of the holy priesthood, but he knew that milk came before meat, and that the principle of eternal sealing would have to wait for another day. “Soon you will know the joy of that doctrine, but first I would like Elder Woodard to tell you of the vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the restoration of the Lord’s primitive church. He, like myself, has been commissioned to preach the gospel in the same manner as Christ’s apostles. I pray that you will open your hearts to the message.” Lorenzo stepped to the side and Elder Woodard stood to address the roomful of attentive listeners.

  Later that day, John and Pauline Malan walked with Elder Snow into the afternoon gloaming. They were going down to see the Malans’ oil-press operation. When Lorenzo heard of the walnuts, hazelnuts, and hemp seed pressed for cooking oil and home use, he had a feeling that this type of enterprise might be of interest to President Brigham Young. Besides, Lorenzo was anxious to get out in the open. At the conclusion of Elder Woodard’s preaching and testimony, the press of the people’s interest and questions had begun to overwhelm his still-sorrowing sensibilities.

  Now, as he walked in the chill mountain air, some of the melancholy lifted. The sky was pale blue and a soft pink crown lay atop the snow-covered western peaks. It had snowed in the morning, and as the sun moved towards the western horizon, the fresh covering of white sparkled on the ground and the branches of the pine trees. Lorenzo missed having Elder Woodard with them, but he had gone, at the request of one of those attending the Malan re-union, to preach at another meeting. Lorenzo walked in comfortable silence with his two companions, each content with their own meditation. Eventually John Malan spoke.

  “Do you know if Elder Stenhouse has reached his destination in Switzerland?”

  Lorenzo shook his head. “I do not. I suppose it’s too early to have heard anything.”

  “He seemed like a good man.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Elder Woodard is a wonder. He speaks like a son of the mountains.”

  “Yes. I feel very confident in his ability to watch over the mission while I am away.”

  “Do you know how long you’ll be in London?”

  “It depends on how long the translation takes, and what the Lord desires.”

  Pauline stopped to secure her scarf more snugly around her neck. “It is a great blessing to be taught about revelation and priesthood power—to have the holy scriptures opened to a deeper understanding. For many years I have felt that a time of refreshing was coming.”

  John looked over at Lorenzo. “And to think that the Lord guided you to us, this small handful of Christian believers hidden in these valleys for hundreds of years.”

  “Never hidden to the Lord,” Lorenzo said. His thoughts went back to the great revival in America, a time when his family, along with thousands of others, were looking for the original Church of Christ. “Many people in the towns and villages of America wondered of God’s observance. Had He forgotten His children? Many wondered if the pattern of the Lord’s church would ever be manifested.”

  “That has been our concern,” John said. “The Waldensian faith is woven in antiquity, and yet many of the doctrines have changed or been lost through the centuries. Where was the power to act in God’s name?”

  Lorenzo nodded. “That was my dilemma. Where was the pattern of the ancient church?”

  Pauline started walking and the two men attended. “My vision of the twelve apostles has much more meaning now,” she said.

  “I think perhaps it is time for me to hear of this remarkable vision,” Lorenzo said. “Will you share it with me?”

  “I would be honored,” Pauline said. She placed her hands into the warmth of her coat pockets. “Just like Joseph Smith, my vision came in the spring of 1820, just before my fifteenth birthday.” Lorenzo looked surprised and Pauline smiled. “Do I think the Lord is aware of things from the beginning to the end, Elder Snow?” She paused. “Yes, I do. Miracles are all around. We just need to have the eyes to see them.”

  “True words,” Lorenzo replied.

  Pauline nodded and continued. “My father and I had gone down to the plains of the Piedmont to take charge of silkworms on a large silkworm farm. There was the cocoonery and a hall where each of the workers had a cot for resting and sleeping. About a week before we left to go home, I was alone in my area. Night was falling and I was reading the scriptures. I was reading about the life of Christ and His apostles, and pondering the gospel as taught by them. I was wishing I could have lived in those days. The large hall became light as noon, and I sat up. I felt a heavenly influence in the room and I began singing a sacred hymn. Twelve personages dressed in white robes appeared and formed a half-circle around my cot. They began singing with me. At the end of the song they and the light vanished.” She stopped, having come to their destination and the end of her story.

  “Remarkable,” Lorenzo said. “And you have never doubted the vision or its source?”

  “No,” Pauline ret
urned. “Nor has one image of it faded in all these years.”

  “Remarkable,” Lorenzo said again. “And what did your parents think?”

  “They believed me. They had no reason to question the story because I’d always been a child of truth.”

  “Again, like Joseph Smith,” Lorenzo remarked.

  “When I told my mother the story, she opened our Bible and read Acts 2:17—‘And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.’”

  John moved forward to stand beside his wife. “And we are in the last days, are we not, Elder Snow?”

  “The last dispensation of the fulness of time, Brother Malan.”

  John Malan grinned. “I like the thought of us being brothers.” He sobered. “Your words ring with truth, Elder Snow, and we want you and Elder Woodard to return to our home and preach again.”

  “Of course,” Lorenzo said. “If I’m away to London, then Elder Woodard will join with you and continue what we have started.”

  John Malan took a large key from his coat pocket. “The Book of Mormon in Italian. I will be interested to read it.” He inserted the key into the lock and opened the old wooden door. “I’ll light a lantern,” John said, entering. “Please, please, Elder Snow, come in.”

  As Lorenzo walked into the old stone building, he breathed in the pleasant smells of nuts and rich oils. He thought of five lamps filled with oil—five lamps burning brightly in a dark night, awaiting the advent of the Bridegroom. He thought of the Cardon family, the Malan family, Jean Bose, and Albertina Guy. This was why he had come. This was why he was willing to sacrifice so much for the work of the Lord. Oh, Charlotte. My dear, dear Charlotte. He heard the peaceful trill of a lark, and somehow the lingering melancholy that had held his heart throughout the day released and drifted away with its song.

  Notes

  It is unknown whether Lorenzo Snow was in attendance at this gathering at the Malan home, but for the sake of continuity I have him attending and speaking.

  Many of the words of Elder Snow’s talk are taken word for word from his writings.

  Pauline Combe Malan’s vision of the twelve apostles was included in her writings and confirmed in several family histories.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Torre Pellice

  January 23, 1851

  “Wait! Wait! I know this part. Let me tell this part!” Joseph jabbered as he jumped from the bed.

  “Shush!” Albertina scolded. “You were supposed to be asleep half an hour ago, Joseph Guy. Now, get back into bed. It’s freezing.”

  “No, I won’t! I won’t unless you let me tell the story.”

  “Shush! All right. All right. Anything to keep Mother from taking the stick to the both of us.” Albertina had come to her brother’s small upper bedroom to sing him to sleep, but instead she’d been coerced into reading from the book of the Catholic martyrs, replete with gruesome pictures.

  “Promise?” came Joseph’s skeptical reply. “Promise I can tell this part?”

  “Yes. Now get into bed, you tyrant.”

  Joseph giggled and hopped back into bed. “Mother would never take the stick to us,” he said matter-of-factly as he snuggled back against his pillow and pulled the covers to his chin.

  “And why is that?” Albertina questioned.

  “Because you’re too grown up and I’m too precious.”

  Albertina burst out laughing, and immediately covered her mouth to stop the sound. Joseph laughed too, immensely pleased with himself for having wrecked his sister’s scolding.

  “What shall I do with you?” she said in a whisper.

  “Let me tell the story!”

  “All right. Yes. But this is the last of the stories about martyrs.”

  “But—”

  “No, I mean it.” She opened the book to the story of Saint Lawrence. “I don’t know how you can sleep after this.” The old woodblock picture showed the saint being burned alive on a metal grill as the wicked Prefect of Rome looked on. “Ugh,” Albertina said, turning her face from the picture. “Disgusting.”

  “No, it’s not,” Joseph protested. “Saint Lawrence was so full of God’s love that the fire didn’t even hurt him.”

  “So goes the story,” Albertina returned.

  “Yes. And I like what he said to the mean old Roman officer,” Joseph said, sitting up straighter in bed. “‘Turn me over, please. I think I’m done on this side.’” He collapsed into a fit of giggles. “I think I’m done on this side!”

  “Oh, mercy,” Albertina said. “I’ll never get you to sleep now.”

  Just then a loud crack sounded on the inn’s front door, and the two involuntarily cried out in alarm.

  “What in the world?” Albertina gasped.

  The sound came again and again, and then the sound of the door being wrenched open, and the din of angry voices.

  Albertina leapt out of bed. “Stay here!” she commanded. She was fully dressed, but in her stocking feet.

  “Wait!” Joseph shrieked. “I want to go with you!”

  “No! Stay here!” Albertina ran out of the room and down the stairs. She stopped abruptly at the open doorway that led from their living quarters into the guest sitting area. A group of four men were pushing past her father and moving towards Elder Woodard’s room. Her father and mother were both protesting as the men shoved them out of the way. Suddenly, Jabez Woodard stepped into the room; he wore trousers and an untucked shirt and his feet were bare, which gave him the look of vulnerability, yet the strength of his bearing momentarily stopped the gang of men in their pursuit. The leader of the mob glared at him, moving forward to grab his arm.

  “Leave him!” Rene bellowed. “He is under my protection in this house!”

  “Then we will take him outside,” the man said, yanking Jabez forward.

  Elder Woodard pulled back, but the big man’s grasp did not release. Another man stepped forward and clamped his hand on the back of the missionary’s neck. The two pressed him towards the door as Elder Woodard struggled and Rene tried to intercede. Rene was shoved against the wall by one of the other brutes as Francesca’s arms were pinned behind her back by the fourth.

  Albertina came out of her stupor. She raced across the room, lunging at the man holding her mother. “Stop! Stop it!” she screamed. “Leave her alone! Let her go!” She was vaguely aware of the sound of Joseph weeping from the doorway.

  “Get away, girl,” the man growled, turning his back to her to deflect the blows from her small fists. “We don’t mean you harm—just the Mormon.”

  “He is under our care!” Albertina yelled, frustrated tears coursing down her cheeks. She saw that the leader of the group was at the threshold of the main door. “Wait! You can’t take him out. He’ll catch his death!”

  “That’s what we’re hoping,” the man said over his shoulder as he and his companion dragged Jabez out into the frigid night.

  The cold poured into the house, overtaking the pitiful warmth from the dying fire.

  “Stop!” Albertina yelled, running to intercept them.

  The man guarding her father caught her around the waist, pulling her to him and wrenching back one of her arms.

  “Albi!” Joseph cried, running into the room.

  “If you don’t stay out of it,” the man hissed at Rene. “I’ll break her arm.”

  Joseph ran to the man and began kicking him.

  “I mean it!” the man bellowed.

  “Joseph! Joseph, stop,” Rene said. “Come here to me. Come here, you brave boy.”

  Reluctantly Joseph left off the attack and went to his father, who picked him up and hugged him.

  “Why are you doing this?” Albertina pled. “You are
Waldensian. You know what persecution feels like. You’re assaulting a man of faith.”

  “Albertina, be quiet,” her mother said.

  The man tightened his grip and Albertina cried out.

  Rene stepped forward. “Please—please don’t hurt her.”

  “Then she must learn to keep her mouth shut. Just like that Mormon blasphemer must learn.” He leaned over and whispered menacingly in Albertina’s ear. “He is no man of faith. He is the devil and you would do better to turn from his lies.” He glared at Rene. “We have seen her going to their re-unions. Giving up her own faith for the words of a devil. We will beat the heresy out of him. We will—”

  The man’s words were cut short by sounds from outside of men shouting and a dog barking. The two brutes, fearing their companions in trouble, let go of the women and charged out the door.

  The Guy family stood frozen in place, listening to a deep male voice issuing threats, the sound of blows, more threats, and then the sound of footfalls retreating into the distance.

  Rene set Joseph down. “Stay here,” he instructed, grabbing his coat and moving out into the dark night. Joseph ran to his mother as Albertina went to look out at the door.

  “Shut the door!” her mother said. “We’ll all catch our deaths.”

  “No,” Albertina replied. “I see them coming. I see Colonel Beckwith!”

  Within moments, Colonel Beckwith and her father entered the inn, dragging Elder Woodard along.

  “Bring him over here,” Rene gasped, hauling the young missionary to a chair near the fire.